Pretty. Stupid.

Danny McCarthy is a journalist focused on the intersection of pop culture and politics. His work has appeared in Westchester Magazine, Mediaplanet, The Odyssey Online and The BU Buzz. He is passionate about queer issues, personal essays and Ina Garten. He is currently pursuing a Master's in Journalism from the University of Southern California.

In today’s social media climate, the few weeks that Pete Davidson and Ariana Grande have been dating and engaged feels like a lifetime. Not really because of them, more because of the political hellscape that we’re struggling to survive, but it also serves the dual purpose of blurring our sense of time. Mid-May? What even is that?

Don’t quote me, but I believe that the “zero tolerance” policy that led to the separation of thousands of immigrant children from their parents began roughly around the same time that Pete and Ariana began dating. And bizarrely, those are two things that seem to have had equal play in the media (albeit in different spheres).

And I think that it’s precisely because these two events are concurrent that we find ourselves so obsessed with the new relationship.

In the beginning of the year, The Cut (the fashion offshoot of NYMag) published a piece about the rise of skincare. There was a connection drawn between the stress of the media and the sudden deep desire to self-soothe and self-care, particularly when it comes to something as neutral and inoffensive as skincare. I really believe that there is a reasoning behind the obsession with the benign, and the relationship between a popstar and a comedian is about as benign as it can get. And their relationship is getting so much play in the media that my best friend, who does not care about most pop culture, even brought it up in a phone call.

My theory, I posited, is that Ariana Grande will be one of the long-lasting greats in our pop cultural textbook. And a lot of the greats have had multiple significant relationships. She’s 24, so it’s high time that she’s had her first engagement. Multiple engagements is kind of chic. By the way, if this sounds cynical, that’s not how I mean it. If Pete and Ariana end up getting married and stay together forever, a la Dolly Parton and Carl Dean, that would also be kind of chic. And if they got married, stayed together for five or ten years, then that wouldn’t be the worst thing either.

In the grand scheme of things, Pete and Ariana are in a pretty good position to take their relationship fast. They’re great in their respective fields (which do not overlap but occupy tangential spaces); they’re young; they’re rich; they’re hot; they’re well-liked. Apparently there are people saying that Pete is “beneath” Ariana; first of all, yeah but only because Ariana is…Ariana.

But I think the real appeal is that there’s no real risk of people getting hurt. These are not people for whom money is a real limitation; if they drop a hot thous on a ring, who cares? If they move into a luxury apartment too quickly, will anyone really be worse for the wear? They’re adults, but they’re young, and they’re in control and it’s fun and flirty and a little stupid. I love it.

Now, that being said, it could get dark quickly. If they do get married and divorced quickly, that’s dark. If someone cheats on the other, that’s dark. If there are drugs, that’s dark. But for right now, there’s none of that, so I’m having all of it.

But it’s such a welcome balm to think about Pete and Ariana rather than parse out the meaning (if there is any) behind a snide message scrawled on the back of the FLOTUS’s coat, or pull my hair out over Trump’s horrific press rally, or wonder what exactly that Stephen Miller audio sounded like.

I made a Christmas playlist on Tuesday and I’ve been listening to it. Before you pick up those stones, ask yourself this: are you about to stone me because I committed a holiday faux-pas, or because you’re jealous that you didn’t do this yourself?

In case you live under a rock—girl, you deserve better than that—I’m living in London at the moment. I shop for groceries here, I poop here, I take the tube, I get lost in Hyde Park. And here in England—omg, name drop—they don’t have Thanksgiving. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS?

No faux-pas. No arbitrary rule about waiting until after Thanksgiving. Once Halloween goes back into its dark hole, it’s open season, goddamnit. And since I’m missing Thanksgiving in America this year—frankly, I could afford to skip those calories—I’ve decided to embrace the British and start listening to holiday music.

And I’ve never felt so alive. I realized that the act of waiting until after Thanksgiving is completely idiotic. That leaves hardly a month for listening to Christmas music, which is—according to multiple sources that I can’t divulge for privacy reasons, not because they don’t exist—one of the greatest genres. I don’t want just a month of Christmas music. I want more. I guess I’m a typical American in that sense. Ironic that it took me living like a Brit to find that out.

Is that irony? I’m not sure what ironic means. I guess that’s pretty ironic. Did I get it that time?

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I’m not the kind of person who typically gets into the holidays. I guess I just usually feel like holidays are kind of a letdown. But I really need to stop hate-scrolling on the Instagrams of people who get into the holiday spirit, and I realize that most of those people are making an active attempt to be festive and get into the spirit. So I’ve decided that this year, I’m going to be all festive and shit.

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I also have been feeling anxious lately, and this Christmas music playlist is making me feel better. I know you’re asking yourself, “Is he mentioning the mental illness thing as a way of making it harder to give him shit for listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving?” And to that I say, “No comment” and pop a Zoloft.

I haven’t been feeling anxious for any particular reason, except every reason, but that’s just the name of the game with depression/anxiety. You can have no reason to be feeling this way, and your illness is like LOL YOU WILL FEEL IT.

I’ve been stressed about this study abroad almost being over. I’ve been stressed about worrying if I’m not traveling enough. I’m stressed about classes for next year. I’m stressed about boys. I’m stressed about being a tad homesick. Not in like a “crying” homesick way. Just like in a, “I would really like a Dunkin Donuts medium caramel iced coffee (with a Turbo shot and no milk) and also to not have to do math whenever I’m paying for something, and also to have actual money again,” homesick way. So I guess, when I write it out, there might be a reason for the anxiety.

Whatever. Idk. Whatever.

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So because I’m like a total slut for Christmas music now, I’m going to divulge my playlist:

Caveat: Once it’s November 13th, I will be adding the RuPaul’s Drag Race alumnae’s holiday album Christmas Queens. This will change the pH balance of the mix, because it’s about to get real basic. Okrrrrr?!

Side bar: Are they “alumnae” (the feminine plural Latinate ending) or are they “alumni” (the masculine plural ending)? Or maybe “alumna” (the gender neutral plural Latin ending)? So many questions.

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All in all, I’m trying to be a festive little snow baby. Even though it probably won’t snow while I’m in England. And it probably won’t snow when I’m back in New York for Christmas. It’ll probably dump four feet when it’s February and I’m pissed about Valentine’s Day. But being a snow baby is independent from the weather. Being a snow baby is purely a mental game. It’s all about in here *taps the side of head*. All in here.

Alright, kiddos. I’m gonna go and start making a list of every holiday movie I’m going to watch. *Dodges another huge rock to the face* Okay, okay, I get it! I’ll roast a turkey! Fuck. You people are insatiable.